


Dusk Til Dawn

by 0Skelledark



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 13:50:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Skelledark/pseuds/0Skelledark
Summary: Jamie is in what he thought to be his ideal kind of living situation- By himself, helping run a junk yard, without having to deal with all the locals of his small town who know how much of a pain he was growing up. That is, until some bloke by the name of Mako Rutledge saves him from getting stabbed, and points out how much his life really does suck. The stranger's words get the man thinking, and start the journey the two of them traverse together, to find out what kind of person Jamison Fawkes really is.





	1. Bum-rushed at the Bar

Arms stretched out, as a heavy yawn was taken in and sighed out. Fleshy fingertips wiggled and flexed in loose movement, while metal could only dream to mimic the fluidity of their left-hand counterparts. A cheap prosthetic, the only option for a town personally dubbed ' _Asscrack of Hell, Australia_ '. The whole amputation had been a 'cheap' process, the 'only' option at the time. It was better than the leg, though, which tripped him up every so often when there was no boot on it.

Stuck with these pieces of plastic and metal, Jamison Fawkes had lived dealing with their pros and cons for roughly five years on the arm, nine on the leg. Occupational hazard on both accounts, in two very different directions: one landed him in juvvie, the other got him the place he lived in now. It was funny, that one- a decent situation, gone south, only to land him the only place he felt like he could be himself in ' _Asscrack of Hell, Australia_ '  (Though _'Bumfuck, Nowhere_ ' was a pretty good one, too.)

While this little squat of a town hardly had anything exciting to do, population maybe twelve-thousand if they counted all the old folks out on the edges, they did have a Junkyard. Off to the side on any map, as if trying to be forgotten, but it was **home** to Jamison. He gazed steadily about heaps of metal, car wrecks, and even a few busted motorcycles. There was _The Pile_ of miscellaneous parts, and the garage that attached itself to the house he currently had the privilege to call his.

The whole place was in shambles. The ceiling leaked, the water was either hot or cold on a whim- no in-between. There was very little furniture, and what little of it he had, Jamison had patched up or rigged back together to keep cotton and springs where they belonged, or legs and backings tight along their frames. The few signs that might be considered true habitation may have been the fairly new appliances, the satellite dish on the roof, and the patched-up card table supporting an old computer.

Ah, yes. This was the Junker's Paradise, the home of a young man who barely passed high school, had quite a record, and whom at least half of the town had seen his face in newspapers at least five times in the past ten years. Perhaps the place was another sort-of prison to keep him contained, where the few who came looking for things could handle him so long as he was within the shabby fence around the place. Any time he stepped out to go into town, the switch was flipped, and it didn't matter if he had prosthetics or not- anyone who recognized his face always had something to say.

All of that was neither here nor there, however, when it came to how Jamie felt about it. He sort-of liked the at-arms-reach distance, because he'd never really learned to trust anyone to begin with. Passed from home to home, bullied in school; trouble was wherever he'd been, growing up. He'd been massively lucky to be able to move out of Foster #5's place, to rent a closet that claimed to be a room, to help out around a garage. Troublemaker he was, but he was good with his hands and had 'The Knack' for mechanics.

As far as he was concerned, all the people muttering and staring was something to laugh about.

 

So into town Jamison would go, and he even put a little effort in his appearance whenever he did. Today's garb consisted of a black t-shirt with a sunny disposition of a smile painted in bright yellow on it, some actual pants that covered his leg entirely and tucked into his boots nicely. His coat- an old, tattered, hoodie that was probably the worst-looking portion of his ensemble, but it was comfortable and had helped him keep his head down on more than one occasion. Sure, he still looked like he'd walked out of a trash heap, but at least he could blend in a little better with the rest of the masses out there.

A little bit of water- cold right now- splashed onto a fleshy palm, and hair was given the attempt at being managed into something less... bedhead. It only worked a little bit, and after roughly five minutes, Jamie gave up with a shrug and went to grab his keys. Door- locked, gate- locked. Wallet, cheap-and-crappy cellphone, pocket knife-- grabbed. Left with the uneven rhythm of his footsteps as he walked the mile or two to the nearest dinky little bus stop, headphones were pulled out, as well as a far-too-small media player set up, and some tunes were there to give his brain an option other than the usual 'think-too-much' mode.

There was a reason for this mid-afternoon trip, after all. Wallet a little heavier, slouch a little steeper. Today was a memorial of sorts, a reminder that he'd once had a family who probably loved him. The kind of day he was going to drink through, because fuck the kind of thoughts that made him second-guess himself and sink into a **m** **ood**. The, on the verge of tears constantly, sleep too much or not at all, no food or drink, kind of mood. Something he had pills for, but rather would not take them on account to him having no means to refill the prescription anytime soon.

Onto the rickety, noisy bus, and off to the closest bar, to hope nobody would really care he was there. Some drinks, some time at a pool table or the breaks-every-week pinball game and he'd be right enough to stumble back home. Fortunately, the place seemed a little busy with some out-of-towners when Jamison slipped in and ordered his first beer, and he both enjoyed and was amused by all of the leathers about. Some motorcycle group- not really a gang per see, they all had different stuff going on, but they were traveling together nonetheless. It was charming.

Now, Foster #5 had been a single woman- at least for the first half of their time of her basically making sure he was kept under stern eyes. She was a bitchy sort of cunt he sort-of had nicknamed _The Queen_ because of her attitude. Then she got married- some poor bloke who was clearly there for his sweet job, and then there was the asshole son-in-law. If The Queen had the necessity of signing any adoption papers or anything rather than simply being a live-in parole officer, this arse would be legally related to him in some way.

Jamison didn't give two shits, but apparently Clarence took it as something to be offended by.

 

Fortunately, the bar was fairly busy when Jamison first came in, and it wasn't terrible when a few groups of the bikers started trickling out. Unfortunately, it had meant he missed Clarence and his group of terrors tucked in a corner and having a time of their own. When enough people had gone, there was no dipping out, either. Like a homing beacon on his favourite target practice, the goon was up on his feet with half a pint of beer at hand, and Jamie's day truly started right there.

"Oi! Lookie here, it's James the Freak, back from his castle o' trash. How's the view from your pile of shit, Jamison?" Clarence had clearly a pint or two before his current, and the full five-foot-ten and stocky build did little for him in helping keep him from an angry boozer status.

"Shove off, ya cunt. I ain't here for you." Jamie grumbled, flagging down for a refill to his own glass.

"Eh? Wot? You ain't here for me, Jamison?" Black hair was brushed further out of beady hazle eyes, squinting at the blonde on the barstool. "You comin' back inta town fer your mum, then, is it?" Clearly, more than one pint was too much for him, and he cocked his head to the side when he hardly got a response. "Then why the fuck are you here, Jamie-Jamison-Jamesy?"

Ignoring the bloke as best he could was always so damn tiring. Jamie tipped his glass to and fro as he stared at the foam head on it, trying to pretend Clarence was nothing but a little gnat to be squished under his metal thumb. "None of your fuckin' business, Claire." He quirked a little smirk, fiery-golds peeking over at him. The glare he was given was terribly ugly, the pet-name such a quick thing to get under the man's skin. Funny, that.

"You know- I'm gettin' pretty sick and tired of your shit, Jamison. Your face 'round here makes everythin' stink. Y' know, Alice woulda never taken you in if she hadn't been forced to. Just think- I would've never had to see your ugly mug if only..."

Ah, there he went. The drunken rambling, punctuated on the occasions of Clarence drinking and finishing off his beer, sip by sip. Jamison was a bit put-off of his own, so he dragged a finger tip around the rim of the glass. He'd ramble, one of his mates would notice and drag him back away to avoid trouble. What he missed, however, in the ramble and voice-raising just to the side of him, was that his would-be step brother had grown some balls in the past year or so.

A thick fist reached and grabbed the front of Jamison's coat, jarring from his disinterested jumble of thoughts. "Didja hear what I just said?" Clarence spat. Apparently not being listened to only seemed to piss this bull off even more than usual today, and the room had suddenly gone fairly quiet. A quick glance around, and it was clear most of the rest of the clientele had left- bar maybe a few tucked off to the sides, and one big bloke dressed in the leathers similar to the other bikers who'd already left.

"Musta zoned ya out or somethin', Clancy. Sorry 'bout that." Jamie cracked a grin, which was met with a fist. He tasted blood, could feel a tooth shift loose and would've been knocked clear off his stool if his coat wasn't still being held onto.

"You never did listen, didja, Jamison..." Somehow, this had escalated rather quick, and the small cushion of comfort Jamie had up until now that Clarence was too dumb to do anything- popped. The beer glass had been dropped, he saw that now after the hit. He also saw something else that made him wary as he was yanked off his seat. "Let's you and me 'ave a good little chat out back." A nod to his boys, and Clarence was using brute strength to drag the six-foot-six lean and wiry Jamison.

 

Shit, shit. This wasn't what he'd come here for, at all, and it was beyond anything he'd ever expected. Trying to dig his feet into the floor, his prosthetic was little help, and Jamie couldn't help himself being pulled for the door while Clarence's group took care of the bill and whatever else needed taking care of. Only two others came out with them- a hulking brute named William, and a lanky fuck that went by Jones nowadays.

"Wh-Whassis all about, Clarence?!" Jamison hated the stutter, hated how his voice had gone up in pitch a few notches with his anxiousness. The one beer he'd downed was not nearly enough for any of this- especially when he was shoved up against a wall and suddenly had a knife to his throat.

"Don't 'whassis' at me, Jamison. Yer slurring your words, use proper language!" Whatever he'd done to piss the slightly-younger man off this time, apparently he'd gone off the deep end. There was raw hate in those beady eyes staring up at him, and his friends were providing both support in case Jamie tried to run, and a look-out. "I'm gonna rid this town of the stinkin' trash heap you are, once and fer all." That ugly grin came to Clarence's lips again, and Jamie could smell more than beer on his breath.

Shit. What the fuck is he supposed to do? He could try to hit him, but that blade was gonna nick him at any time. In fact, it was being moved, probably to go for some dramatic quick, but really, slow and painful kind of thing. Brain racing, forgetting he even had a blade of his own, Jamie nearly stooped over Clarence as he pressed his back further up against the wall behind him. "Look 'ere, mate, I-I ain't just gonna let ya..." His voice was faltering again, and it was the worst time to have to speak up and start again.

"The fuck has gotten inta ya, Clare-"

The whole outdoors seemed to draw quiet as the bar door opened, and the large bloke who'd been what was left of the bikers came out. He was tall, he was built, and he had a massive gut. His whole demeanor carried that he knew exactly how to handle himself, and likely how hard he could punch a guy in the mouth for saying the wrong thing. Surprisingly or not, his face was obscured by a mask- likely what he wore with his helmet to keep the air clean and bugs outta his mouth for him while he was riding. A hog's snout.

This hog-biker paused and gave the nasty little group a narrowed gaze of the most shockingly blue eyes he'd ever laid his own on. It caught him off-guard, but not enouhg to distract him what was going on. His chin lifted, his teeth grit even as his jaw twinged in pain and blood dribbled down his chin. In the same instance, wide-panicked eyes completed the image that- yes, he was a tough bloke, could handle his own, but holy fuck not this crazed version of Clarence and that knife in his hand.

Clarence, whom had also paused and looked up, who was also brandishing that knife at the stranger. "Move on, ya _piggy_. Nothin' to see here, if ya know what's good for ya." He sneered, jerking his head back when Jamison tried to carefully inch a little bit out from his grip. Prosthetic hand up, gripping the one that held him- but those fingers only worked so well, and it might've just been a means to try and block anything incoming from that knife. "James, you bit-"

 

**CRUNCH.**

It was the noise that started the fight in one full swing. Admittedly, Jamison could've done without trying to get a few blows in, himself, or maybe with keeping out of the way so William hadn't noticed him trying to split while the massive guy knocked Clarence out. He got hit again, and all the gits in that group knew exactly how to get him to keep running. An elbow to the gut to bring the habitual sloucher to wheeze and stagger, and then a combination of pinning a boot in place, and kicking right in the sweet spot.

**CRACK.**

While one goon broke his prosthetic, Jones tried drawing the biker away enough so William could come up behind- maybe win this fight. Jamie was on the ground, could feel the bruises already starting to form, and could hear Clarence groaning and coming to. That was the spot he watched the rest of the fight from, and though he got kicked once or twice during the scuffle, the victor was clear- Mystery Big Guy from the bar knew exactly how to hold himself in a fight.

Jamison cringed, recoiling when the man came up to him, thinking he might just be going for the whole team while he was at it. Instead, he crouched down, and paused. "You alright?" The stranger's voice was deep, a little off in accent and suiting his size, but also had an edge of gravely that reminded him of a growl. The silence that followed didn't seem like quite the right answer, and as his eyebrows furrowed to reveal the mask-hidden expression of a scowl, there was a quick scramble of a second attempt.

"I-I, y-yeah... It's just... It's just my leg, I'm alright, mate." Jamie tried to move, to shift and sit up- and one of those hands, bigger than dinner plates, pushed him back down. A firm stare put him right in his place, and soon his pant leg was tugged up to reveal-- surprise, surprise, his prosthetic leg, and a bent-out and broken knee joint. If he'd been expecting as such, however, the stranger didn't show it in his visible expression, even as he glanced back to Jamison.

"I can give you a lift." There was that voice again- short, to the point and... offering him a ride? Sitting up just slowly, this time unhindered, Jamie got to see the damage for himself. Dumb cheap thing; it had barely lasted him this long, but he really didn't have much to replace it with. He'd have to build it himself. Focused on the damage, he'd nearly forgotten to answer again.

"I- Uh. That would be much appreciated, mate." What else was he supposed to say? There were at least two more blokes inside waiting for this lot to come back in, 'deed done', and there might even be some pig on the way, cuffs with his name engraved on them coming with him. A few moments passed, and eventually fiery-golds lifted to stare at the stranger who'd saved his arse. A hand was being held out. Oh.

It became quickly apparent that the gut was the only thing on this bloke that was fat. Fuck, it might not even be entirely that, because- though Jamison was a lanky fucker, he was a Tall lanky fucker and wasn't easy to just pick up like this guy did. Of course, he let him hop on his good leg a little bit, maybe to let the blonde realize that last kick to his gut probably hurt more than he'd initially realized. After that, it was an embarrassing display of simply being picked up and carried carefully to a waiting motorcycle.

 

This Hog was a beast, suited to its rider, but it took some adjusting to get Jamison situated between the man and the handlebars, a leather jacket his cushion between himself and heating metal. Quick and careful, very few words shared, and an indication of where to go required. It wasn't that the stranger was being rough about it, either- it was just clear they needed to get out of there quickly. Soon, they were rolling out and onto the road, and Jamie felt his life had changed in some horrendously over-the-top kind of way.

First off, Clarence _trying to kill him_ was new. Normally, they might just get into a brawl if Jamison was into it.

Second, a complete stranger had _saved his arse..._  single-handedly!

Third, he was riding awkwardly on said stranger's bike with him back towards the junkyard, a bandanna tied tight around the boot and lower part of his prosthetic leg so nothing could get shifted loose, or whatever. A bright _pink_ bandanna, at that.

Fourth... The ride there was _exhilarating_ , and Jamison felt like maybe he'd been killed after all. He had the helmet, the man had put on a set of shades to protect his eyes and kept his mask on. He wished he wasn't wearing the helmet, because the wind rushing past them and the smooth purring of the hog below him was heavenly. He didn't even mind the massive arms tucked around him, holding onto the handlebars to guide them home. It almost felt like the whole fight and stuff had been... worth this.

It was enough on his adrenaline that pain was dulled, and Jamison almost forgot he couldn't really walk anymore by the time they got to the junkyard. The stranger had been silent the rest of the trip, and was even more now. There was an awkward exchange of glances where Jamie had to fish keys from his pocket and hand them over, pausing at the knife he might've been able to use to defend himself. Maybe his cell phone, too- there was supposed to be an emergency contact button, right?

The longer they were not on the road, the worse Jamison felt. He waited while the gate was opened, exhaling slowly as he was rolled with the bike inside. "Y-You can just... drop me off here, I can... get inside." Words not completely thought about, not really clear on _how_ he'd manage that. The stranger simply gave him a look and continued what he was doing. House was unlocked, with a few tries. More glances about, and- yep, he was getting carried again. Wow.

Settled down on what sorry excuse of a couch he had, there was a soft hiss as he leaned forward to undo the bandanna, handing it back carefully. Pant leg up, and the whole leg was to be detached and pulled off. That pant leg would get rolled up a bit, folded over, so he wouldn't have to deal with it. All the while, the Hog-masked man watched and waited. Careful peeks were exchanged between them.

Finally, Jamison exhaled and leaned back again, giving his gut a break. "Uh- I'm... Sorry. You didn't have to, I mean..." Fleshy fingers rubbed at his face, and it was only then that the stranger seemed to even take note that the other one didn't match. A soft grunt left him. "Thanks, and sorry, mate. If ya want to just... bugger on outta here, I've gotta crutch 'round here I can move about on. Just lock the gate on your way out."

A hand lifted, and that solitary gesture drew the blonde's attention quickly. A finger held up, while the stranger's head was turning, gaze drifting about. He spied the crutch, went and grabbed it for Jamie. He then looked around for something else- found some paper and a pen. "You give me a call tomorrow." That gravely voice again, and focus was given to what he was being handed. A phone number, with a name. Mako Rutledge.

"You got hit hard tonight, kid... They weren't aiming to be friendly. Don't ever apologize for something like that." Mako growled, low. "They were more deserving of an ass-kicking than you were; I could tell the moment I laid eyes on them. Don't be sorry." A lot of words from the big guy, and they kind-of hit home somewhere in Jamison. He numbly accepted the paper and nodded his head slowly. 

"I-I, uh... Yeah..." Clarence had been the one to pick the fight- he hadn't started nothing… but...

"Call tomorrow, or text if you can't talk well." That jaw was going to smart a bit, and Mako looked the kid over once more. Though he was in town for only a few days- perhaps less thanks to this- he would at least see this little... scrawny rescue through to be sure he'd be alright. The prosthetics were a concern, now that he had an eyeful of them, but his living place was a bit more so. How exactly did this kid end up like this? What was his story?

"S-Sure, Mate." Jamison muttered, feeling less and less like having someone around. He was grateful, and all, but for a bloke who barely was around people regularly, and just nearly got knifed... It was clear enough that Mako nodded once, and turned away. At the very least, Jamie remembered one thing of decent-manners while watching the bloke's 'Wild Hog Power' logo on the back of his coat move towards the door.

"I-I'm Jamison." The blonde called out, and a silvery head bobbed once more in acknowledgement, before the man was out the door. Bloke even locked it on his way out, and Jamie hoped- but didn't doubt-that he remembered the gate as well. Sinking down on the couch, it took him a good solid ten minutes to recover from all of the abnormal-everything that had just went on. Or at least to crack through his own shell enough to have a nervous breakdown, use his crutch to get ice for his hurts, and to strip and crawl into bed for the rest of the evening.

He didn't get much sleep at all, and all the while he wondered who the hell was Mako Rutledge, and why did a complete stranger save him from Clancy's drunken ass?


	2. Keep your chin up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mako's back to check on Jamie... and so is Clarence. What started out as a little rescue mission at a bar is turning out to be putting this kid's pieces back together and helping him figure out that it's really not okay to just keep taking the blows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize a lot of things are either spacey/scattered, and some of it is my thought process, some of it is intentional. I'm working on getting that together- and so is Jamie! So, things should hopefully run smoother, and we can all watch the pair figure out how to communicate better... And maybe have an easier time of reading the story!

**BUZZ!!!**

Fuckshitcuntpissmotheffing-- Jamison jolted out of his bed, the sound of the buzzer from the gate startling him out of some vaguest impression of the only sleep he’d gotten. What the fuck? It was earl- Noon. Okay, it was noon, and he’d forgotten someone was coming by to pick up an old truck frame to clear up some space on the lot. He felt worse than hungover, and as he reached to put his leg on- he found it to be across the room, and clearly broken. 

Wait- Recap- Bar fight, Clarence tried to kill him, and some stranger biker dude saved his ass and dragged him home. Right- and he still had someone ringing the buzzer. With a great heave of effort, and a wave of pain from forming bruises, his pair of overalls were donned for decency, and his crutch taken up on his left side for extra support. From the bruise along his jaw and his disheveled appearance, it was clear he hadn’t had a good night, but the client didn’t ask any stupid questions. 

Fourty-six minutes later, and Jamie was closing up the gate again, almost wishing he’d asked the guy to hit him on the way out. Fortunately, he hadn’t needed to say much, either. That whole side of his face made things difficult, and he should’ve figured the ugly brute was going to try and kill him from that hit alone. Left all alone to his own devices meant shuffling back inside and seeking out whatever kind of ice pack/frozen food/cold  _ whatever _ he could get his hands on. A bag of peas was close, he supposed, and that went to his jaw.

The cold caused a soft hiss, but Jamison got used to it pretty quickly. He went right for his pain killers next, after pausing to flip on his radio for something other than the dead silence that usually made his brain buzz. Some bloke on this station liked to play whatever he could get his hands on- and it was mostly good. Something called  _ Fell On Black Days _ came on a little after he managed to lean on his crutch, balance the peas on his shoulder against his jaw, and use his hands to get the aspirin bottle open. 

Pills, frozen shit, a bottle of water, and a heavy flop onto the couch later, and things were almost alright again. The music was just enough to keep him from going off the deep end in his head, but he still had quite a bit to think about through brain and the fuzz of fatigue. Like, what the fuck was he going to do without a leg? He’d been considering rebuilding, but hadn’t found enough parts to get a design going that he liked, really. Could go for something simple, but… Until then, he was on the crutch.

Which was another thing- that was going to make moving about difficult, and he still had shit to do around the yard. Work that covered the little bit of a wage he got, his ability to live there, and basically his whole life at the moment. Well, the life that meant nobody tried to shiv him, where nobody punched him just for being around, or broke his (prosthetic) leg… That whole incident was still such a trip to him in his next-day wakeful hours, and he moved the thawing bag of peas to rest against his bare belly under his overalls, over the bruising flesh over his gut. Another hiss, but it passed soon.

Times like these, it was easy for Jamison to either lose himself in his own head, or be distracted by absolutely everything that was going on. The switching of songs along the lines of  _ Where is my mind? _ Among one of them, and firey-golds shifted from the blank stare at the ceiling on towards his kitchen, suspiciously. Then his toilet was running again, the water heater crackling, a few cars driving past the junkyard- everything external was only half the distraction. Internally, there were so many loose threads of thoughts he might get put in a mental ward trying to describe them all to someone.

So back to the night it went, and he lost track of time puzzling out the stranger who’d saved his hide and lifted him over here. Picked him up like he weighed nothing-  **that** he remembered pretty well. Almost uncomfortably so, really, but not as vividly as the ride to the junkyard. His seat hadn’t been particularly comfortable, but the scenery shifting around him, the breeze picking at everything it could, and that adrenaline rush it all gave him… Hooley Dooley, he wouldn’t mind doing that again. 

 

Perhaps it had been the space cadet moments he was having, or that Jamison had zoned out enough to block out some of the external sounds, but he hadn’t heard the purr of the motorcycle pulling up to the gate. For the second time that day, he was startled enough to nearly tumble off of furniture- but this time it wasn’t the buzzing alone, but also the still-cold bag of peas that took a trip further down his shorts as he jolted up from where he’d been laying down. A yelp and a crash later, plus a few minutes of scrambling and he was on his way to the door. 

To come face-to-face with the big bloke by the name of Mako Rutledge. Apparently, he hadn’t locked the gate. Also made evident by the man’s appearance, he’d forgotten to call him like requested. Eyes widened, and his jaw nearly went slack if it weren’t for the tension and dulled pain. “O-Oi-” was about the only sound he managed to make, and only the soft radio voice announcing the next song could be heard for a few moments. As _A_ _Million Little Pieces_ started its first chords, Jamison tried again.

“I- uh…” He choked out, the ache of his jaw starting to blossom anew. Nobody said he’d succeed, but he tried. Mako seemed to get the picture, and he sighed- still wearing that Hog mask that seemed part of his outfit as much as his leather jacket. “I told you to call me.” Deep, gravely- but smoother than it had been the night before. Those shocking blues seemed to be searching for something, prompting something, but came up empty and he gestured with a hand. “Can I come in, Jamison?” 

Immediately, there was another fumbling of words, and a furrowing of bushy eyebrows. His name? He- oh, he supposed he had told him. Quick to remember, and Jamie moved out of the way to let the stranger into his house for a second time, whom was polite enough to help and close the door behind himself. “I- Y-yeah, I remember that- I mean, I forgot until… Well, now.” Smooth talking, Fawkes. He was absolutely  _ fantastic _ at communicating, and it was clear his guest had taken note of it. 

“Shut up.” The tone wasn’t heavy, not hard, but it got the blonde to do just that- both in surprise and anxiety. What the hell was he supposed to do in a situation like this? Mako barely fit through his doorway, and now seemed to be glancing around, silent as ever. What did he want? Was he gonna take something as compensation for saving his skinny ass last night? Or- did he save him for himself to bloody up? A whole list of things danced along the inside of Jamison’s skull, and he opened his mouth to say something, only to have a finger held up. 

It seemed the bloke found what he was looking for, and off through the small house he went- to pick up Jamie’s broken prosthetic. He looked it over, then peered back at the blonde again, as if silently questioning a few things about it. The response was a huff of air in a heavy sigh, and a little bit of puffing up his chest. What did he want, the whole story? Most people made shit up about it, or just couldn’t get themselves to look. Of all the times they asked out of pity, about half of them he’d made up something random just to get them to piss off. 

“That’s my leg.” Jamison’s tone edged sarcasm, and he ignored the kind of pain gritting his teeth did to him right now. That prompted a look from the silent stranger, but no words yet. He was looking over where the joint of it was, where the metal had been bent enough out of place for it to be nonfunctional. The cracked plastic casing that had been on it. “...Somethin’ you’re lookin’ for, mate?” Couldn’t keep the silence for terribly long, even as  _ Boys Don’t Cry _ started up nearby. There were a few steps and he turned off the tunes. Shoddy list today, anyways.

“This the only one you have?” Finally, the big guy spoke, and he gave a grunt of disapproval when Jamie bobbed his head. Thoughts confirmed, and Mako put the leg down again, stepping over to the too-thin kid who looked like he could really enjoy a lot more things in life than he had the option to… “Anything else broken?” Eyes drifted to the arm, which seemed fine enough, to the bruises in his immediate visibility. 

“Nah. Williams just knew where ta hit to keep me from runnin’.” Dumb brute, but there’d been too many encounters for him to not know. He blinked up when he got a look of surprised, and his head canted to the side. “Wot?”

“You knew them?” A question, and then a realization behind that mask. Of course he knew them… 

“What- you thought I was getting jumped by some randos?” Had he not heard anything Clarence had been blabbing on about? It wasn’t like the guy was quiet. He got a shrug in response, and Jamie gave a short titter of a laugh. It was a little funny- funnier yet that maybe the guy would realize he wasn’t being a Hero so much as staving off the inevitable for one more try later on. The laugh went short, and he sighed. 

“Yeah- Some unfortunate shit, but I know them, and it’s likely I ain’t gonna be able to show my mug at that bar again.” It was shit, but it was true, and he was realizing it a little bit more now. He’d have to be careful. Getting jumped like that again… who knew what Clarence would do now. 

“Could go to the cops.” Mako suggested, though his tone wasn’t all that hopeful. Small town like this…

“Cops would arrest me even if I ain’t doin’ nothing.” There were another few moments of surprise, and quiet, and Jamie shifted on his crutch. Over to the couch, to sit down and breathe a little easier when he wasn’t balanced so much. This was such a strange encounter, but the relief from sitting down was enough he didn’t regret dismissing that sort of formality. Mako seemed to be watching his movement, though that surprise had shifted to something a little more calculating. The silence continued on. 

 

“Look- I… I appreciate what ya did for me last night, ‘n all mate, but I dunno… What’re you doing here? I don’t got any cash to give ya, but I mean if there’s somethin’ you want, just say it. Weren’t you traveling with a group? Didn’t they move on?” There was still a smidge of defiance in the air around Jamison, but his voice had softened, even as an edge of anxiousness heightened its pitch. It didn’t help that his current guest was so quiet. 

Speaking of- the bloke was stepping closer, around his cardboard box coffee table. Mako scooped up the bag of peas, moving to squeeze into the kitchen and put them back in the freezer. He came back out with a bag of frozen carrots wrapped in a layer of paper towels, handing them over. “Came to make sure you were alright.” He finally rumbled, watching Jamison pause a few moments before sticking the frozen goods against his jaw again. 

“Ah.” Well. That was… nice of him? Maybe? The concept was new to him, other than the brief usual concern of whether or not he’d need to go to the hospital again. It seemed like there might be more to the stranger’s good-will, because Mako soon turned to head back into the kitchen. Cabinets were being opened, as was his fridge. Was he looking for something? Jamie leaned a little to watch him, catching sight of the heavy sigh and hearing it muffled by the mask. Was that thing uncomfortable…??

Realizing what might be going on, Jamie got a little defensive. “O-Oi, uh, I haven’t been shoppin’ in a bit, was plannin’ on it tomorrow… If yer hungry, go ahead and have whatever.” That wasn’t it, as the guy shook his head slowly and left the kitchen, heading for the front door. Scrambling onto his crutch, the blonde moved to follow, pausing as he heard the familiar rumble of a Mitsubishi pickup just outside the gate. “Hold on- someone’s here.” Fortunately, Mako hadn’t made it to the door yet, and he paused as Jamie hobbled up beside him. Sure enough, the buzzer went off, and the junker hoped his strange guest didn’t notice how pale he’d gone.

“I’ll check ‘n see what they want- prolly just a part or two.” A few steps to the door, and a hand was on his shoulder. Glancing up, he could tell there was some disapproval, but the hand moved after he offered up a little grin. “‘S alright, just work stuff. Already did some o’ that today.” And out he went before Mako could notice anything up. Strange world it was, where he was worried what a stranger might think… Or do if he knew what was up. Once outside, he couldn’t slow down his pace like he wanted to, knowing he was being watched from the doorway. His stomach churned as soon as he saw Clarence’s ugly mug right next to the motorcycle still parked just outside.

 

“Well, Clarice...” The war of pet names started again, Jamie’s eyes wide and spooked and only adding to his rugged appearance. There was no visible knife, and none of the kind of airs that had been put on the previous evening. William was still in the truck, but he was sitting half hanging out, waiting for trouble to just start. “I slink back t’ my trash heap, a place you ain’t ever wanna come by before, and now yer here. Upset you couldn’ finish the job last night?” 

What was unnerving in this encounter was how Clarence was looking over Mako’s motorcycle. It had been a mistake not having him bring it in… or maybe that he was still there? Jamie opened the gate a bit to try and distract him away from it, and it only partially worked. “Nah, I know I made a mistake last night.” The goon’s hand brushed over the seat of the bike, glancing back to see how uneasy it made Jamison. “I should’ve realized you were meetin’ someone.” And that got the blonde puzzled, and even more uncomfortable. 

“Y’see, Jamison, you’re a freak. Always was one, always will be.” Clarence was finally getting away from the bike, coming towards Jamie- who by now could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. This was bad, and there was some implication that he knew Mako before the bar. While it could just be a friendly meet, somehow the word use of ‘freak’ made him think there might be some other suggestions being made. “I’m not ever gonna give up tryin’ to get rid of you. You know that, don’t ya? You should’ve left town completely, years ago.” 

Jamison saw it coming before it hit him, and he was on the ground with blood gushing from his nose in an instant. Clarence kicked the crutch away. “Where’s your boyfriend, James? Or are you two not doin’ that yet?” There was a kind of sneer on his lips as he said that, watching Jamie clutch his nose with his fleshy hand. “He caught us by surprise, the other night… But he won’t again. He’s in the house right now, ain’t he? We’ll have to be quiet ‘bout this.”

“Clarence…” That just-- that Wasn’t the whole deal going on here?! Not that it would save his hide at all, but Jamison was seething as he tasted his own blood for the second time in the past twenty-four. That piece of shit couldn’t rub two brain cells together to save his life, and he had an ego that made up for that… Or clogged everything else up, too. The next blow was a kick to his ribs, and a hitched whimper left him. “...You’re wrong, you know.” He managed out. Another kick was delivered, and there was no means of talking after that.

A sudden silence, unnerving by how quick it came and left, and suddenly Clarence was on the ground beside him. Glass jaw, or something else, but he was out cold in one hit again, and William was getting out of the truck entirely now. “You pick that bloke up and you get your ass as far away from here as you can drive.” Mako’s voice was low, dangerous, and a gravely warning above Jamie. He heard William spit and swear under his breath, but the brute did as told. Clarence had been the one to drive there, but the big guy got behind the wheel after moving the unconscious lug into the passenger seat, adjusted his own seat, and drove off. 

The silence after was almost painful, because Jamie could feel eyes on him, glaring at him. He kept his own shut tight, still reeling a bit after the boot to the balls he’d been delivered before Clarence took payment for that. A shaky few breaths, wheezing out after. Finally, some movement above. 

 

“You want to die?” Mako’s hands were lifting him off the ground again, carrying him like he’d done the night before. It was such a strange feeling, still, and he couldn’t quite get around it as he was held close while being taken inside. 

“You don’t have t’ save my hide from him…” Was the only kind of response he was getting; the question had been answered in several different ways in his head, but this one only got a grunt in response. An eye opened slowly to peek up, and Jamison could tell the man was angry, even with the mask covering his face. He sighed, keeping his hand at his nose. This was just going to be home after a fight, all over again. Quieter, but no less full of nostalgically bad feeling all around.

Inside, the couch was where he would be placed to rest, and that bag of frozen carrots placed onto his chest. A jerk and a hiss from the cold against skin, but a hand was put down to keep him from getting up. Silence, still, movement about the place. Jamie was brought tissues and a damp towel to mop up the mess. “Anything broken?” A similar question from last night, and the clarity of that memory had him squinting for a few moments. 

“He’ll come back, y’know. Sometime when you’re gone.” Wasn’t that an ominous statement. That got another grunt out of Mako, though.

“Hopefully you won’t be so stupid to let ‘im in.” Came the reply, and that got an eye roll out of Jamie. Nose was still bleeding, and was going to bruise. Ribs were bruising- made breathing a little difficult. He’d suffered worse.

“He was gonna do somethin’ to yer bike. I might’ve vandalized a lotta things in my past, but he’s known to do stupid shit, too.” That got a snort, and firey-golds blinked up at him.

“Bike ain’t worth someone’s life, Jamison.” Ah… What a weird thing. Jamie had been more worried about the stranger’s bike than himself, and now the Bike was placed lower than a life… What level had he just placed himself, then? A swirl of thoughts drifted through his skull, and he wondered how long ago he’d taken his last dose of pain killers. 

Mako seemed to take notice, silent and watching, kneeling next to the couch to make sure he was there to keep Jamie from getting up and moving. This kid had no ounce of self-worth, did he? Sure, he looked like he’d be happy to fuck someone up in a fight, maybe if he knew for sure there’d be no direct consequence. He was a fighter alone from the prosthetics he wore; out in the middle of Bumfuck Australia, with nobody around ‘lest someone comes for parts or if he goes into town. A fighter, with only so much to fight for, it seemed.

This kid hardly took care of himself, too. Kitchen was mostly empty, looked like he’d been eating canned soup and peanut butter sandwiches. He could tell the place he was living in wasn’t too great- from a few buckets in strategic points under the bending of roof paint where water leaked in, to the creaking under his feet when he walked about. Whatever lot in life this Jamison had, it might be a great place to hide out, but it was no real way to live.

“They won’t come back for another few hours.” Mako’s movement drew Jamie’s attention back to him, as he watched the man head for the door again. “I’m going to go to the store, and then I’m coming back. I’m taking your keys.” Sure enough, the jingle of them was heard, and before Jamie could really think of what to say- he was gone. Well, fuck. What the actual fuck. What the fuck was he doing?

 

With that, there was about an hour and a half’s time Jamie had to himself while Mako went out. That time was spent on the couch, mostly, swearing at himself and everything around him. Swearing at Mako, wondering who the hell he thought he was. The last half hour, he’d managed to get himself up and moving, leaning on walls and furniture since his crutch was still outside. A chore, but he needed to do something about his nose now that it had time to settle.

Into the bathroom, to splash water on his face and check the tenderness of his nose. Leaning heavy on the sink, he could feel it shift under his weight, but knew it wouldn’t give out on him just yet. Definitely a face full of bruises, fortunate enough Clarence hadn’t gone for the eyes just yet.  _ Yet. _ He thought to himself. Wasn’t that just the thing? ‘Yet’ seemed to be about the word that he was living on nowadays. 

He’s not out of food,  **yet** . He hasn’t been kicked out,  **yet** . Died,  **yet** , lost another limb,  **yet** … Figured out whatever this Mako guy was about,  **yet** . His nose wasn’t quite broken-  **yet** , but it was bruising and tender to the touch. The blood wasn’t stopping just  _ yet _ , so he managed to wad toilet paper up his nose to staunch the blow and used the hot water from the faucet to clean up the rest of himself. A struggle and a half later, and he made it back to the couch, groaning. 

The sounds of that hog rumbling back in caught him, drew him out of his thoughts. Still purring after a little while, he could tell Mako was bringing it inside the gate this time. Good. But why? Once the sounds stopped, more picked up just outside. He could hyperfocus on them, and it was a good thing because that also drew him out of his never-ending puzzle of thoughts. Was that… bags? Footsteps to the door… 

“...Did you just go shopping?” Maybe he’d forgotten the whole reason Mako had taken his keys with him, to begin with, too busy with the buzzing of the rest of his thoughts. The big guy had an assortment of bags and he offhandedly wondered where he kept them when he was driving. The blank stare he got answered his question well enough, and soon his kitchen was reinhabited- after, surprisingly enough, his crutch was delivered near him. Jamie dragged it closer to himself. 

“Ice packs- real ones. They’ll need time to freeze. Some real food.” There was a dry humor to his tone. “Beer.” Some medical supplies. Another bottle of painkillers, since he didn’t know what Jamison had. And a comb. “I’m using your kitchen.” There would be no word otherwise. 

“Uh… Sure, mate.” Sure, why not. He could do whatever it is he wanted. Why not. Jamie would watch from his spot, as best he could, as bags were unloaded and things were set out. Freezer stocked with ice packs and a few more frozen goods. Fridge, with a bit more in it. The oven was getting used- new thing for it since Jamison always forgot his food when he tried cooking like that. Hopefully it worked. 

“How much did you spend on all that?” A few moments of silence as an answer. “You’re gonna be taking most o’ that with you when you leave, right?” Still silence. “...How long are you stayin’?” What, was he talking to himself? Wouldn’t put it past his head for him to just lose it completely. “Is your real name Mako, or is it actually somethin’ generic, like Bruce?” His boss and landlord’s name was Bruce. Older fellow, not terribly talkative, but better than this guy.

 

Mako sighed in the kitchen, making sure the oven was getting hot enough before he put in the frozen casserole. He wasn’t about to risk this guy not even having pots and pans, after all. Back into the fridge, and he brought out two beers, opening them up as he carried them out. Gesturing for Jamison to move, he’d take a seat next to him on the couch, handing over one of the drinks. The mask went off, finally, and he took a drink.

“Hunh. Wondered why you wear that thing around…” Jamie’s offhand comment got him a glare. Mako was aware he wasn’t exactly good-looking, and he didn’t take lightly to anyone remarking on it. The glare didn’t get much of a response- there was still staring involved, a little shrug, and a sip from a bottle. Stranger responses had been made, but he’d keep an eye on him. 

“What is it, anyways?” Jamie spoke up again, and there was a few moments of silence as a sip of beer was taken. 

“...A filter.” Finally, a response! That brightened the blonde’s expression a little, and there would be another moment for beer, before a breath was exhaled slowly. “What’s your last name, Jamison?” 

“Eh?” First off, he’d just asked a bunch of questions, and only got One answer. Secondly... Weird question. “Fawkes.” He replied, frowning. “What’s it to ya?”

“Jamison Fawkes.” Mako’s tone was contemplative, smoother and less muffled when the mask was off. Clearer, though Jamie kept an eye on him while he spoke. “Well, Jamison Fawkes. Your life kinda sucks.” He stated, matter-of-factly, and finished off his drink with one more swig. Small bottles, large man, quick drink. 

“...Hooley dooley…” Jamie mumbled, wide-eyed and staring at the bloke next to him. Who was he to say that? “I mean- you’re right, but... “ He was right. “That’s kinda harsh to say it like that.”

Mako shrugged, gesturing around them. “From where I’m sitting…” His voice trailed off. “I save some skinny kid’s ass from getting knifed, help him home like any bloke should. Find out he’s livin’ in a junkyard, with a house that looks like a shed pieced together with odds and ends brought in over the years…” He took a breath, looking back at the blonde. It wasn’t that he particularly cared about this stranger, he just clearly needed somebody to do a little taking care of him. 

“Firstly- Clarence is just a stupid arse and we’ve had bad blood for years. Blew up his bike once, or somethin’... He’s never once gotten this bad, though, and he caught me by surprise last night.” Jamie held up one finger, beer bottle settled against his hip. “Second, this place is beat up but she holds up well enough. It ain’t that bad. Third--” 

“Shut up.” That stopped him, and he squinted back over, mouth ajar.

“You do that often?” Those blues hadn’t left him yet, and they took in the puzzled look given in turn. “You’re defending it all. This place ain’t so bad. That bloke’s just doing what he does.” Mako frowned, brows furrowing in a troubled expression. “My point is- You didn’t even fight back so much. Not even defendin’ yourself in all of this. Just rolling over and accepting your lot in life.” He nudged his fist against a shoulder, waiting to see the sort of response he got.

Jamie stared up at Mako for quite a bit. It was clear he was working through things, though the vacant expression he had might make him look like an idiot while he was doing it. “I, uh…” He’d never thought about it like that before, really. Yeah- he accepted his lot in life. Lose a leg, still had a fighting chance to strive on. Lose an arm… Well, there was no way he could do some of the finer work he’d like to get his hands on, anymore. Not all of the stuff he’d been learning about, working to be good at. 

Eyes lowering, he thought about the other stuff too. Defending everything? This place  _ really _ wasn’t so terrible, but maybe because he’d nearly been homeless before? Clarence was just a  _ thing _ and it’d kill him or it wouldn’t. The third point had been that the Junkyard was a pretty decent place to work at, but he was starting to get an idea of what Mako was talking about. It made him scowl a little, eyes shifting back over, wondering if really, right now, he was just getting  _ pitied _ . Yet, it didn’t seem like something the big guy was capable of doing. 

“Look- I appreciate your help. Ya know that. The… checkin’ on me, gettin’ groceries, that was a little over-the-top, I’ll admit.” Sucking in a breath, things seemed to start spilling over a little more. “Ain’t nobody done much for me, least of all anything like that. So I want ya to know how much I do appreciate it… But also want you to stop.” Why was the guy’s expression not changing? Like he was set in how things were and was just letting him ramble?

“You don’t know me, mate. This is my house, my job, and these are  _ my _ problems.” He jerked his thumb towards his face, where the bruising on his jaw was pretty pronounced. “You’re just some bloke passing through, aincha? Why do you even give a damn? The moment you’re gone, it all goes right back to the hell it was before, and you won’t even remember me a week from now.” Just like anyone else who’d extended him a kindness, other than the bloke at the garage and Bruce the landlord; those had been really lucky circumstances, so to speak. “You stick your neck out for me now, and it’s just a wasted effort.” 

Jamison ended his borderline-angry speech with a drink of his beer, nearly finishing it off in one go. Not once did Mako look away, open his mouth to argue, or do little else than keep his eyes on him. He did, however, sigh when it seemed like the junker was done. What did this kid have to lie like that? It wasn’t even just to him- he was lying to himself a lot more. He might not know him, but he’d had plenty of years to figure out how to piece people together and knock out those who deserved it. 

He saw a kid who still clung onto life even if he’d seemed to lose any hope for it. Reminded him a lot of himself, honestly… From a point years ago, and now he realized why he’d decided to stick around- other than, well, his real reason for hitting this town with the group. The rest of the bikers touring around these parts knew he’d catch up, but that he’d also had business to deal with here. That was what had him at the bar later, when all the others had gone. That was what landed him a sudden body-guarding job to this miserable little sod. 

The timer in the kitchen went off, and Mako got to his feet again, taking both empty bottles with him. Food was a little overcooked, oven was probably off, but it was still something he almost guaranteed was better than anything else Jamison had been eating. Clean bowls, clean forks, and casserole would be served. “Gonna have to talk to my mate, Bruce… tell ‘im I’ll be around longer than we’d expected.” He ignored the puzzled stare as he came out and handed over a bowl heaping with food to the blonde on the couch, returning to his seat. 

“Gotta tell him the pipsqueak he’s got livin’ on his property needs someone to kick his ass into shape. Will give some more time for my Hog parts to come in.” He started eating, something of amusement in his tone.

“... **_Wot_ ** ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..And again, if you like the story or have some comments- feel free to drop them below! I'd love to know what you think, and Chapter 3's already in the works. I've an outline I want to follow, which I hopefully will and get this thing to completion! Ta!


	3. The New Leg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie hasn't had anyone challenge him in a long time, and it seems like it is just the kind of thing he needs. A little bit of pressure, a trip down memory lane, and a determined junker aiming to prove himself not helpless. Mako may have started something, and he's not entirely sure of what just yet.

“So- Let me get this straight.” Jamison’s knee was bouncing, a little bit in agitation, a little bit in his usual inability to sit still for very long. “Bruce is a mate o’ yours, and you were gonna be comin’ out here from the very beginning?” It sounded strange to say it like that, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, before exhaling quickly. “Well- Well… fuck **.** ” Maybe that explained why he came by again, but their first meeting had been some pretty damn whacky chance meeting.

“That’s about it.” Mako replied, voice low and hinted with amusement. It was a pretty strange coincidence, but he got around to eating and let the kid whir through it on his own. The longer he was around him, the longer a sense of endless energy seemed to just ebb from him. Unable to sit still for long, or just a lot of thoughts in his head. Even hurting, this little bit of agitation had him full of life. Chewing through another bite, blues kept on his blonde companion, giving his bowl a little nudge when the junker seemed like he was more likely to stare at his food than eating it. 

A few moments of silence passed, when Jamie started eating finally, and Mako had no plans to say more until he was done with his own helping. Several times, the younger man had made as if to say something, but seemed to disappear back into his own head before anything got out. There was a wonder, if it was from being away from people for so long, or if it was just how he normally went sorting through his thoughts. Not a psychologist by any means, there was really not much he could guess from just this. 

Dinner was done, though the biker managed to get Jamison to eat a second helping, and when they were both full and finished would the discussion be continued. Along with another beer. 

“I’ll be calling Bruce here soon. Tell him what’s up. Don’t think I can stay in my hotel room for much longer, but…” Mako’s eyes gazed around the disheveled state of what he could see of the house. Just a sliver of bedroom available to view, with clothes about. Blues met back up at the junker, who was staring back at him, and there was a sigh as Jamie puffed up his chest a little.

“Sorry this place ain’t to your likin’...” The blonde grumbled, aware of how much had been put into that look-around. “I clean it up enough, but ‘s not like I got guests over all the time.” There was a soft sound as a chuckle rumbled from his guest, and his neck went a bit hot. “You ain’t thinkin’ about trying to stay here, are ya, anyways?” It was his space- he could say no. But the guy was big, and if Bruce caught wind he needed a place to stay… 

“You think you can manage about the place with only a crutch to keep you upright?” The question was a challenge, and had Jamie tittering softly, grumbling and puffing up a little again. “I’m not going to be here to wipe your ass or do your dishes, but it would be pretty convenient for me to get the parts I need…” Convenient for him, but also a means to keep watching this kid. Things were getting interesting… He’d started getting defensive of himself. And still needed someone around to deal with his bullies since he wouldn’t.

“You’re takin’ pity on me again, ain’t ya?” Came a dry response, the junker a little riled from the conversation. 

“You were considering a favour for my help back at the bar.” It wasn’t a question, and Mako watched as a face quickly looked away, a bit more muttering going on. Quiet when thinking hard, muttering when irritated… 

“You ain’t gonna sleep in my bed. It’d be the couch with ya.” It wasn’t the greatest of places, and had a tendency to eat people who weren’t Mako- big enough to lean right out of it, or Jamie- skilled in wiggling free. 

“Sure.” Mako glanced down to the furniture they were both settled on. Didn’t look too bad, though he’d likely be sore after a few days. Better to hear any cars at the gate, too. Or that truck, now that he knew what to listen for.  

Jamison wasn’t terribly sure this was how he felt this  _ should _ have gone. Stranger saving his life, to stranger staying at his house, and well… It wasn’t like he had very much to lose. Shrugging, the lanky man shifted to hop up onto his foot after grabbing his crutch, leaning on it heavily with half of his second beer at hand. “Bruce says you stay, you stay. Otherwise- you’d be better off gettin’ more time at your hotel. I ain’t an easy guy to live with- even for a little bit.” With that, he headed to the bathroom, slow to move through the room.

Mako was left in silence, considering his options. While this was definitely nowhere near how the trip was supposed to go, he could call up one of his buddies and let them know he’d just catch up with them back in Sydney on their return trip. It wasn’t nearly as much road as he had wanted to see, but he had mostly come here on business anyways. Plus, there was something about this kid that just  **bothered** him, and he intended to see through what it was; whether or not it was the kid’s low-giveadamn about himself, or something else he’d seen at the bar that night.

When Jamie got out of the bathroom, the biker was out front and on the phone. He could hear most of the conversation, the walls not great at keeping sounds out. It was how he heard most cars come up, how he knew when someone or some animal was out in the yard. Wiping a damp hand against his pants, he paused to settle his gaze on that discarded prosthetic. There was maybe a fifty-fifty chance that this guy was sticking around just ‘cause he thought he was useless without it- and he was gonna prove him wrong. If  **anything** rubbed him wrong, it was people pitying him.

Sure, there wasn’t much for him to really care about if he died today or in fifty years. That might affect some of his frame of mind, like when it came to dealing with Clarence, or maybe his living situation, or even whether or not he was motivated enough to get some more- _ real _ \- food, but… Well. The rest of him still had the urge to do stuff- as much as he could before he did go out with a bang. Taking apart engines, cleaning pieces, maybe even putting one back together just to hear it run. There were a lot of subjects in school he hadn’t done particularly well with, but when it came to putting his hands to use on machines, he was all too happy to just lose himself in it.

Grabbing the broken leg, Jamison nudged some trash off the impromptu coffee table he had set up with boxes in his living room, soon to move away again and rummage. Tools, shoved in his pockets. A few things here and there, and by the time Mako was done with his phone calls, with the confirmation that Bruce would be happy for him to stay at the house so long as it wasn’t trashed, there was a bit of work being done. Really, he paused in the doorway to watch one hand work nimbly while the other managed well enough at holding things in place. 

It was something to see, truly. Jamison hadn’t even noticed him come in, working at pieces and banging parts free when he needed to. Shifting metal, looking at the damage and figuring out if it could be fixed. Now he could really see why Bruce let this kid around to begin with. Arms crossing over his chest, he waited a few moments, before making a show of closing the door behind him and stepping in- to not startle him too badly. 

“So. Tomorrow, I’ll be settin’ up out here.” He eased himself onto the couch, not quite wanting to jostle the man juggling a few screws in his metal hand. There was silence, aside from a soft counting as the junker took track of where he’d pulled what from where. “Bruce says he’ll be by to make sure this place ain’t a mess.” He added, lower, and that got the man’s attention.

“Wot?” Jamie glanced up, blinking. Oh- right, right… “Uh.” A quick lookabout, this way and that, before his gaze seemed to cross slightly with his drifting of thoughts. “I’ll… pick up before ya get back here tomorrow. If I ain’t dead.” If Clarence didn’t find his way back through, that was. The guy was dumb- he might just be dumb enough to try again so soon. Damn- he was gonna have to find a replacement hinge, and it wasn’t exactly a typical one. His hopes of maybe patching this one up were starting to get replaced by an urge to just build one from scrap. He finally got his chance to figure out more of how this one worked, without repercussion since it was already broken.

Mako watched as he got back into working again, exhaling a slow sigh. Waiting, he finished his beer, shifted in his seating position a few times, and otherwise watched Jamison dismantle the false limb and put bits and pieces of it back together again. Eventually, he got back up to dispose of empty bottles and get the ice packs from the freezer. Tossing one at the blonde rewarded him with a shriek and an utterance of swears. A glare was put into play, but the biker was pulling his mask up and getting ready to head out.

“You’ll be alive when I get back, so take care of yourself proper.” That was really about the basics of it, wasn’t it? He’d feel a hell of a lot better if he actually did, rather than letting bruises cause problems for… whatever it was he was doing right now. A grumbled response, but it was clear that Jamison was already past the conversation besides the soft hissing of ‘ _ Cunt!’ _ as cold was applied to bruised flesh. Mako took his leave with a drawn-out sigh, shaking his head slowly. It would be a twenty minute ride to the hotel, and a long bath that relaxed him enough out of the thoughts of the strange, young junker. A night of troublesome dreams and late-night TV awaited him.

  
  


Jamison, meanwhile, waited until he heard the rumbling of that motorcycle drive off, before he went back to work. His night would be a long one, and he had no intention of sleeping. It wasn’t that Mako had been right, about him not being able to do too much while on the crutch. This was about making sure he never had the chance to really say it, ‘cause like hell he was gonna take any pity help. The rescues had been enough, and the groceries he’d… Pay him back, somehow. A little frustrated, he banged bent metal into a workable shape to get some of the screws out. 

The mechanism on the leg wasn’t terribly complex… A little finer work than he was used to, but now that his head was focused on it, he could probably rebuild it. There were more tools in the garage, like a welder and other tools he sometimes had to use to pull apart wrecked vehicles to get at the parts inside. This junkyard didn’t get every wrecked beast, but some of the better shaped ones so they could salvage and sell all the parts they could off of them. Even some motorcycles, and a boat. That had been such a weird day. 

It took a few hours for Jamie to figure out what he was doing, and a few more to start working on getting it going. The radio went back on, something something  _ Bullet with Butterfly Wings _ , but he wasn’t really paying it mind so much as having something going on in the background while he worked. A lantern to help him see when it got dark out, to raid the yard for parts and pieces to use. He would need to measure up before he really put it all together, but he could get the bigger bits all together. 

Functionally, the prosthetic foot just never did it for him. His stride just made it an annoyance, his slouching made his walk uneven to begin with, and he really just needed something to keep him upright. Like the leg on the crutch. A peg would do just fine, would be easy to construct, and he could make it adjustable until he had his final measurement set. Late into the night, the Junker worked like a man possessed, focused on his project the same as he did most of his work. He got it done, he checked it over several times and made several adjustments, and then left it on his work table to go grab a snack.

Hooley Dooley, his kitchen was stocked. Bread and soup cans renewed. More frozen goods, some Fresh vegetables in his fridge. Meats. A box of cereal, half gallon of milk. A little blown away by it all, Jamie just went for some of the dinner leftovers and nudged the fridge shut once he’d also nabbed a beer. He’d eaten more than he had in quite a while, but apparently he’d needed it, because it went quickly. Sitting in his living room and glancing about at the asscrack of dawn, there was a bit of a drowsy yawn while he finished his drink and got back up on the crutch. He still needed to buff out some things on the leg, put the silicon lining in it, and adjust it to suit his height. The hinge on it wouldn’t be perfect, but with the spring he’d rigged, it should hold him until he had time to look for better parts.

Right then, though, he was going to clean… because fuck if Bruce was going to come by to the place being what it was right now. Heck, he even dug out the second card table he’d stashed somewhere to work as an impromptu… just an extra table. He’d use the boxes he was using as a coffee table to put other things into, store them in his room with the rest of his more personal stuff. Whatever fire Mako had lit under his ass, it was keeping him going, all until the house was pretty much as clean as he could get it. He even found some extra blankets and a sheet to drape over the couch.

The sun was up, and he’d just taken some painkillers when he heard a truck pull up to the gate. Exhaling slowly, he hobbled to the front door to peek out and wait. No ringing of the buzzer, no calling out, no trying the gate. It sounded like Clarence’s truck, and he really wished the asshole would just leave him alone, but the moments passed and the truck eventually pulled out and drove away again. Strange… but maybe it was meant to keep him on his toes. 

Jamison went and sat down on his bed, glancing out the dirty window at the shape of the back wall of the junkyard. If he put his head down now, he would definitely fall asleep. His focus drifted to the radio, still playing, as the Radio Voice announced  _ Breakdown _ as the next song. He grimaced, breathing in deeply and letting it out slowly. Sore, tired, but feeling… accomplished, there was something that gnawed at him a little as he listened to the tune. 

 

It was maybe an hour or two later that the sound of the buzzer woke him up. Somehow, he’d drifted off, thinking about things and still somewhat sitting up. Groaning, the junker got up and moved to go figure out whoever it was… To find his boss at the front door.

Bruce was a relatively average-height guy, compared to Jamison. Hair white, he was an older bloke who kept his beard long and surprisingly clean despite working with greasy engines and so-on. The one defining thing about him was the old orange baseball cap he wore, all the time, everywhere. He seemed to pointedly ignore Jamie’s bruises and crutch, gaining access to the house to take a look-around and check on the appliances. 

“Gotta hand it to ya- I was expectin’ to have to replace some of this stuff months after you moved in.” Bruce’s voice was gruff, humorless, but Jamie had learned long ago he meant well otherwise. 

“Y-Yeah…” Maybe his younger self might’ve blown things up, sold them for stuff, or whatever but… Jamison felt a little bit offended now. Still, he kept his mouth shut and kept upright as best he could, muffling a yawn behind his hand. “Tub’s been drainin’ slow again, but I got some stuff to run through here sometime soon… Roof’s pretty miserable again, too…” He paused as a wary eye was given to him.

“I’ll send someone in once Mako’s off again, yeah? Don’t think any big storms are comin’ in just yet, though the weather should be changing soon.” Was that… Was he impressed? The younger junker couldn’t quite tell, and he shrugged a shoulder. 

“Sure. Works for me. Got all the buckets ‘n all, still.” This guy had seriously given him the benefit of the doubt, or maybe hadn’t cared about this place enough for it to matter when he let Jamison move in. But once the young man had started proving himself about the place, he’d fixed things up for him or sent someone to repair. If anything, piece by piece, this place was a  **lot** better than it had been when he first moved in. Surely, that was a reason to defend it, right?

“Looks like you’ve got things all set here. Bloke’s a good man, but I wouldn’t say nothin’ funny about his looks if I were you. Said he saved your skinny ass, but I betcha he wouldn’t think twice ‘bout giving it a reason to be needing saving again, if ya catch my drift.” Bruce was as serious as ever, and the warning was given a solemn nod in understanding. Right… He’d seen him fight, too, so he knew… 

“Make sure you keep it picked up, and take care o’ Mr. Cannley’s truck when he drops by on Tuesday. He’ll be pickin’ up those parts we talked about.” Just like that, Bruce was already heading out, and Jamison had the consciousness to follow him until he was headed out. 

“Got ‘em set aside still… Ain’t nobody touched anything, made sure of that.” Jamie mumbled through a yawn, which got him another look. Not another word was said, though, and he blinked drowsily as the man climbed into his own truck and headed out after closing and locking up the gate for him. Trucks, trucks, everywhere… Fortunately there were parts for them, but there were more cars in the yard than trucks…

“Piss, I’m tired…” He growled at the morning air, lingering in the doorway to watch a few birds circle about the yard, chasing each other. Figuring his ‘guest’ wouldn’t be around until later, he was glad the painkillers he’d taken earlier were still in effect. It was time for a bath. 

 

Jamison Fawkes was terrified of large bodies of water. He’d been to the ocean a few times, and always spent his time in some merchandise store across the street, as far from the water as his fosters at the time would let him. The rain made him miserable. Bathing was something only done out of necessity, and definitely not because he liked doing it. In fact, the rickety old house only had a large tub with no showerhead, and it was the most loathsome thing in the house. It was one of  **the** sole reasons he didn’t bathe nearly as often as he maybe should.

Hobbling to the bathroom, some woman’s voice was on the radio he still hadn’t quite turned off yet. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he probably should’ve turned it off when Bruce was there, but… the old man didn’t say anything about it, so whatever. Still in his overalls and boxers, it wasn’t difficult to undress, and things were close enough that he could sit on the toilet seat while he did everything. Leaning to turn on the water, he hoped maybe he could convince it to not be so scalding hot but… Well. Maybe he’d wait a bit after the tub was filled.

The last thing Jamie always took off before a bath was his arm. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t get it wet, but it didn’t do so well in water, and he’d rather not have to sit and wait for it to dry out when he was done. The process itself, just a strap and buckle, always felt like it took longer than it should. Somehow putting it on was quicker, despite some of the struggle he had. It was likely the loss of it still weighing down on him… the loss of his ability to do anything by himself. The leg was one thing, but a bloke needed his hands to work and live. 

Limb set aside, fleshy fingers rubbed over scarred skin. A bit sweaty, a little tender from the late-night work… The line of flesh healing together, the clearest scar on it, was pinker than the one on his leg, and he slouched and compared them in silence. He was missing so much of himself, of his own freedom to do as he wished. Maybe the leg had been a warning, and his arm was that sort of thing in life that ensured you changed your ways… It had definitely taken a lot of the fight out of him.

When the water was cool enough, Jamison sank into the heat and hissed each time one of his bruises was exposed to it. Only full up to his waist, he was very serious about his water level and whether or not he could accidentally slip and go under. Each movement to clean his hair, to wash his face, was practiced and careful. Remnants of blood washed away, dirt scrubbed off, water just still on the edge of too-hot and leaving his skin pink. His mind drifted off back to his current problems of Clarence and Mako, and he sighed heavily while brushing fingertips over bruised ribs. 

Was Clarence really implying he knew Mako, other than for saving his hide at the bar? What was the dumbass thinking, what had he been saying when he’d come around for round two? All of it was just too damn weird for him to make sense of, and he sighed and slouched back a bit. The fighting, the arguing that he and the brute had done all throughout the years. Back when he was under the roof of ‘The Queen’, rules were pretty damn strict, and some weekends he wasn’t even allowed to have his prosthetic leg if he’d been a shit at school during the week. 

That was where Clarence got the idea to intentionally get Jamie in trouble… Or sometimes he’d just swipe the prosthetic, himself. That was when Jamison had gotten creative in getting back at him, like the tar-like substance in his bed, or blowing up his bike in front of him. He probably should’ve never been let allowed to leave some form of prison or parole, really… But he’d managed it, weaseled his way into that space at Joe’s shop. That had been a sweet place, and had helped him realize some more passions in his life than being a pain in the ass for literally everyone around him.

Joe had this closet-sized room for rent above his garage, and Jamie managed to get it in exchange for helping out around the place. Direct that driver to park their car in lane three, clean up this mess over here… Cleaning started turning into disassembling and reassembling, something that Jamie had already sort-of had been looking into in high school. A vehicle, be it a car or a truck or a motorcycle- he saw that as  _ true _ freedom. And, fuck, he wanted that. 

The prosthetic leg wasn’t even that much of a problem, nor really was his record once he’d been there long enough to prove he wasn’t going to steal anything. Why would he? This spitball attempt at getting out of The Queen’s house, to shove it to her that he could function like a normal human being without someone breathing down his neck, it was actually turning out to be one of the best things he’d ever had. Sure, most people didn’t really regard him very well still, but he could work and earn a little bit of income and even had a place to stay with a door he could lock.

Just when things had looked  _ too _ good for him, the accident happened. It was a stupid thing, really, and it frustrated him every single time he thought about it. He had been helping one of the other workers with an engine, lifted up out of the car to unhook it... Something was wrong with the engine crane. Nobody knew what had happened, but one moment the engine was suspended in the air by chains, and the other it was on Jamison’s arm and he was screaming. 

Jamie rubbed at his stump again, the muscles aching as if recalling the memory with him. This town didn’t have a very good hospital, and they sure as hell didn’t have someone who could’ve saved the limb. So off it went… and there went a lot of things. A reason to keep going, a job, a place to live. The only fortunate thing about the whole thing was that the garage’s insurance covered the whole thing, provided him the prosthetic arm. That, and that Joe knew Bruce, who needed some poor sod to keep an eye on his junkyard for him.

The water was starting to cool, and Jamison was ready to get out. Slow, steady, making sure he didn’t slip after he’d pulled the plug, he propped himself up on the edge so he could dry off. From one place that he could  _ almost _ work well with the other workers without incident, to the radio as his only company some days. From fully capable to… Half as much, really. He could only really hold tools with the prosthetic, couldn’t do any fine work with those fingers. Needed a better… 

The process of getting dressed was slower, after he’d strapped his arm back on. Movement slower to head back out, and though his body longed for him to go to his bedroom and let himself collapse onto his bed, he went for the garage instead. He still had work to do, and he needed to be awake when Mako got there. 

Fortunately, he’d managed to finish mostly everything by the time he did arrive.

Unfortunately, the buzzing of the gate woke him up from having drifted off while draped over the new prosthetic. 

  
  


Letting the biker in, Jamison wasn’t really sure if the man said anything. Mako noticed the kid was clearly quite out of it, and after asking him two or three times if he’d eaten and gotten no response, he simply snorted and left him be. The bike was brought in onto the property, and the bags that usually sat on the bike to carry his things were brought inside. His clothes, toiletries, any other necessities. He glanced up as the younger man disappeared through another door, and found himself following into the garage. 

The room itself was about the same size as Jamison’s kitchen, living room, and bathroom combined. The bedroom looked like it took up the space behind it, while the garage itself made an L with the house where it connected and had a door leading in. Likely add ons, but the whole place was too old to really be able to tell. Mako watched Jamie lean over a workbench with a… peg? Leg? 

“What’s that?” Pulling off his riding mask, the biker was assaulted with a variety of old and new garage smells, and he glanced about for a second. 

“Hmm?” Jamie glanced up, blinking. He hadn’t quite realized he’d been followed in, and he shrugged slightly. Sitting on the stool he’d been using, he rolled up his pant leg a little more again and moved to ease the junk-scraped prosthetic into place. A little loose- he could afford to narrow it a little bit more at the base of the upper leg. The knee joint seemed about right, but he still had to measure it out and make sure it was the right height for him. Feeling eyes on him, he looked back up and pondered for a few moments. 

“Help me measure stuff so I can get this right?” The younger man asked, which got Mako blinking again. There was something that just took the wind out of a bloke when you realize some scrawny kid just built himself a new damn leg. No wonder he looked so out of it- he probably stayed up all night working on it. Had he been napping when he showed up? Rubbing his nose slightly, at the septum piercing retainer barely visible at the edge of his profile, he nodded and moved to help. 

Really, Mako had honestly expected there to be more flaws. Sure, a little bit more work had to be done to get it to the right length, and Jamison had muttered something about maybe just layering the inside to get it as secure as he needed it but… The damn kid was impressive. What had he the right to let some bloke like Clarence try to kill him? The prosthetics aside… Ah, well, the hand was the struggle, wasn’t it? They worked together to get Jamie’s new leg functional, and then it was time for the kid to try it out. 

First few steps had Mako holding out his hands, despite the spiteful glaring he got for it. The hell was so wrong about wanting to make sure he didn’t bust his lip open or something? But that spike of anger seemed to bring up his determination in his tired state, and a lot of muttered cursing at himself every time he stumbled got him moving a little better. Each new sweep of pacing across the garage had him getting used to the movement of how he’d set his own leg up. When there was something to adjust, sure enough he’d sit down and prop the leg up to adjust and… The older biker was still just so blown away. 

By the time Jamie could make it into the house on his own, his brain was starting to turn into a satisfied pile of mush. He’d done it- he’d proven to the big bloke he was gonna be able to do his job, didn’t need the damn crutch anymore… Swaying in a doorway, there was a moment of surprise as he felt a hand on his shoulder, carefully guiding him. He didn’t go down without a fight, grumbling the entire way about how he didn’t need his help, didn’t need to go to sleep. The moment his head touched his pillow, however, the new leg slipped off and set aside… He was out like a light. 

This left Mako Rutledge, the rescuer from the bar, the bloke who was going to try and make sure Clarence didn’t have a chance to murder this kid (while he was there)... It left him confused, really, and a little bit uneasy. Did Bruce really know what sort of stuff this kid was capable of? If so, why let him live out here to… To practically rot, except he wasn’t. He just wasn’t taking care of himself, didn’t seem to care that someone wanted to shank him. Blue eyes traced over the frame of this almost-stranger, watching him sleep for a few moments until it became awkward. 

Quietly as he could, the biker made his way out to the living room, where the couch was clearly prepared to be a bed, and no food save for maybe some leftovers had been consumed in the nearby kitchen. He grew up dealing with his own bullies, toughened up and built himself up to be sturdy and durable. At forty-eight years old, he was well… Old. But something about the years on his bones, about how he’d taken care of himself, and he acted like he was  _ maybe _ mid-thirties. 

Forty-eight years, and he’d never been so impressed by anyone before as Jamison Fawkes had impressed him today. Some scrawny kid living in the asscrack-of-hell, Australia, who lived in a junkyard and would walk into his own grave if someone let him. The house had been cleaned, the kid had showered, and he’d _built his_ _own damn leg._

Mako had some thinking to do. About what, he wasn’t sure yet, but he’d be damned if he left for home again before this kid was ready to realize his own self-worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished it up so I could get it out for you! It almost was shorter, but I wanted to finish up the whole segment of 'the new leg' in one chapter, really. At chapter three, I'm about half a page through my outline notes of what I want to do with this... Out of three pages. Hooley Dooley, this might get to be a long fic if I can keep it up!
> 
> Once again, please comment if you liked/disliked this chapter! I really appreciate all that give this fic a try, even more so all the kudos I've been getting. Getting comments just really puts the cherry on top for me!


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